


Five times Albus has to ask Scorpius to hold his hand + one time that he doesn’t

by bellalove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BUT A LITTLE FLUFF TOO, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, albus severus potter will be a journalist and you can pry that out of my cold dead hands, always fluff for my bbys, angsty as hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 19:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17925092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellalove/pseuds/bellalove
Summary: At this moment, he feels like running.He feels like running out of the classroom and all the way up to his dormitory so he can collapse onto his bed and cry in peace.But this notion is decidedly childish, so he digs his nails into his hands instead.





	1. Third Year

**Author's Note:**

> just a little bit of a warning in case you missed it in the tags – self harm is what this story is revolving around. 
> 
> please, please, please, be careful. 
> 
> p.s. the first chapter is just the preface.
> 
> all my love.

The great hall is packed within a foot of the stone walls. There are students everywhere and Albus feels a little like he’s drowning. 

It‘s the first night of third year and he just can’t seem to figure out why it’s feeling so much different than the first two. 

The sorting has already been done, Dumbledore’s six or seven words already said. Scorpius is at his left and Lorcan at his right. 

Nothing has changed. 

And yet, it feels like something has. 

They‘re talking over him about something that seems to be exciting – to them, at least. But Albus isn’t focused on their words – not really. 

He spots Lily, grinning into Rose’s robes as they embrace. He wants to smile proudly because he had known all along that she would be in ravenclaw – that she was smarter than both of her brothers combined. 

He doesn’t smile though; it feels as though he can’t. 

Something is clawing at the back of his throat and his hands are clenching further and further into themselves as the seconds tick by and it feels as though he can’t breathe anymore and–

“Al?”

Albus snaps his eyes over and finds Scorpius staring over at him, a soft sort of look in his gaze. 

Albus feels something sticky in his palm. 

“Al, is everything alright?” 

He chances a look – he glances down and feels lightheaded.

He hears three people yell about the Holyhead Harpies game the week before but he thinks that it might be best to ignore them. 

His hands are bleeding. 

“Albus?”

They’re bleeding badly. 

“Yes. . .yes, everything’s fine,” Albus clarifies – quickly, before the interval of time has started to make Scorpius suspicious. 

But Scorpius already does look suspicious and it makes Albus feel more uneasy than he already does. 

“Albus–“

“I’m going to head up, alright?”

A shadow of concern sweeps over Scorpius’s face and without warning he reaches out a hand to press gently against Albus’s forehead. 

He shivers under the coolness of Scorpius’s hand. 

“Are you ill?” 

Albus is quick to shake his head and so Scorpius drops his hand. 

Albus finds himself missing the contact. 

“No, no, it’s only a headache.” 

Albus glances around himself, then back to Scorpius. He wonders how he is going to be able to get out of the packed hall. 

Scorpius’s eyes are worried, he notices, – so dreadfully worried.

And so Albus clarifies again, voice holding the finality that it had been lacking before, “I’m alright. Really, I am. I–I’ll see you later on.”

It’s the first time he has ever gone to bed with crescents on his palms.


	2. Potions

It’s May and it is dreadfully, horribly stuffy in the potion’s classroom. 

Albus has a pounding headache and Scorpius seems to be upset with something. Albus has been trying to figure out what all morning. 

But Albus decides quite quickly that he probably never will know what is troubling his best friend, so he allows his brain to float back to the problem at hand. 

The whole class is a set up – Albus is sure of it. 

He has heard the stories from his father about that blessed potions book he acquired in his sixth year - how nearly every recipe was wrong in some shape or form and practically designed to make you fail.

Or perhaps he is exaggerating like Scorpius always tells him he is. He is, he thinks somewhat bitterly, he definitely is. 

And as a cherry on top of their dreary cake, Albus and Scorpius are having a double potions with ravenclaw. 

Albus thinks it is the closest brush with torture that he will ever have. 

He hates these classes. If not for Professor Baddock, then for the way they make him feel – daft, terribly so. 

And if he can be found in a particularly bad mood, it is most likely a ravenclaw potions class that is to blame. 

He imagines, for this reason only, that Scorpius also isn’t fond of them; he is enamored with potions any other time. 

Ravenclaws have always prided themselves on their intelligence and while Albus would never admit to it, he does too. 

And so when Professor Baddock had called on him with a question and he made a complete fool of himself, he vowed never to show his face in this classroom again. 

Scorpius merely gave him a Scorpius smile™️ and moved on. 

Albus however – well, he is having a bit of a harder time of moving on. He often does.

At this moment, he feels like running. 

He feels like running out of the classroom and all the way up to his dormitory so he can collapse onto his bed and cry in peace. 

But this notion is decidedly childish, so he digs his nails into his hands instead. 

He thinks to himself that this form of release can’t be a normal one. The relief he feels when the blood comes can’t be something deemed okay – the fleeting anxiety gone the deeper he digs into his skin. 

It isn’t alright and he knows it. 

Albus thinks that he doesn’t want to be any more abnormal than he already is. 

And then he is struck with an idea. One he means to keep to himself. But Albus never was good at keeping secrets. 

“Hold my hand?” he blurts suddenly, low and into Scorpius ear. 

His heart feels like it’s stopped, his eyes grow wide at his own words and he thinks for a moment that he might take his brain up on that childish notion – but then Scorpius just sort of glances over, his demeanour seeming mildly surprised for all of a fourth second. 

Albus almost has the apology past his lips, his face streaked red as he splutters to find an excuse, but before he can, Scorpius grabs for his hand and holds it to rest on his knee as if it isn’t the strangest request he has heard that day. 

Albus can’t find the words and so when Scorpius softly asks, “Better?” all he can do is nod and hope that it is enough. 

The fond smile on Scorpius’s lips tells him that it just might be.


	3. Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first time that they are, in all forms of the word, together. 
> 
> it’s the end of their fourth year here. 
> 
> (i have no idea if these things are relevant to any of you, but i thought i would offer the information in case they are)
> 
> all my love.

“How long until we are to the platform?”

Albus glances quickly to his sister, meeting her eyes, and promptly shrugging.

She almost scowls but because he knows her as well as he does he sees the fondness peeking through. 

It wells in his chest and makes his throat feel like it’s closing. He wonders if she would get that same twinkle in her eye if she knew. 

Scorpius does very much the same but with an apologetic smile added on.

She gives a small sigh, not looking all too perturbed, but standing quickly and with a little huff nonetheless. 

She dusts off her black skirt with a little flourish and says, “I’ll ask Jamie. He always knows.” 

The door slides closed with a little thud and it takes everything within Albus to not flinch violently against the sound. He manages only a twitch of his hand and wonders if Scorpius noticed. 

Scorpius taps a combat–boot clad foot against the paler boy’s leg and successfully gains his attention. And once he has it, Scorpius tilts his head in question and hums a little. 

“Is something the matter?” And when Albus quickly shakes his head, Scorpius pushes a little, “You seem upset.”

Oh, Albus thinks, he had definitely noticed. 

“I’m not,” Albus says quickly. Then he deflects, “I–I feel a little anxious.”

At that, he buries his hands into his palms and presses. He breathes. 

“About telling your family?”

Albus nods quickly, not trusting his voice. 

Scorpius responds rather slowly – more calculated than usual, “They love you, darling. It will be perfectly fine.”

He doesn’t have an answer to that. Not one that Scorpius wants to hear anyway. And so he sighs and lets his fingers flex in and out. 

Scorpius gives a squeeze to his knee but it stops as quickly as if he hadn’t done it all. 

Albus smiles a little but it does nothing to lessen the well of panic slowly filling up inside of him. 

And after a while, when Scorpius isn’t saying anything more, Albus closes his eyes and pulls his knees up so his hands can hide behind them. 

He hears his boyfriend sigh, but he doesn’t dare open his eyes at the soft noise. 

It is a long minute before Albus hears the hum of voices and blinks his eyes open again. 

When he has, he finds Scorpius standing at the window, glancing out of it as the train comes to an abrupt stop. He braces himself against the frame and turns to face Albus. 

“It’s the platform,” he says, something soft in his voice.

Albus wants to snap back and say that he had already assumed as much; already knew as much. But Scorpius hasn’t been anything but kind and so Albus keeps his mouth firmly closed. 

Scorpius reaches a hand over to pull down Albus’s trunk along with his own and as he does, Albus’s nails break a new layer of skin. 

He closes his eyes against the seat and breathes, letting his hands uncurl. 

He knows that if he pushes any further the blood will start to drip over the gouges and he doesn’t have the ability to magic it away anymore.

“Albus?”

He meets tentative eyes. 

Scorpius smiles and nods toward the compartment door. 

Albus complies, taking the handle of his trunk from Scorpius’s grip with a little sigh and following him through the narrow hall. 

They are almost onto the platform when Albus spots a sea of red hair and the distinct wave of his father’s hand. He feels the distinguishable feeling of panic overwhelm him. 

All in a rush, he extends his hand towards his boyfriend’s and mumbles, “Hold my hand, won’t you?”

The expression in Scorpius’s eyes grow – but Albus can’t tell what it is. Sadness perhaps, or concern; Albus thinks that it might be the latter. He hopes it isn’t sadness.

Scorpius says nothing, only smiles and holds out his hand. 

And Albus is reminded, not for the first time, why he loves him so. 

He takes a firm grip on Scorpius’s hand and tries to remember to breathe. 

Scorpius squeezes at his hand and when someone steps in front of them, he presses a kiss to the side of Albus’s forehead. 

And hand in hand, they make their way to their families, intertwined limbs completely overlooked.


	4. Malfoy Manor

They are fifteen and sitting in Scorpius’s family room – Albus thinks distantly that it is a little too done up to be called a family room but Scorpius assured him long ago that this is just his Mother’s way of decorating. 

The room is quiet, almost deathly so. But Scorpius is at his feet, reading a novel, and so the silence is to be expected. 

Albus is reading too, he supposes, but not really. His book is spread over his thighs and his eyes are fixed on it – barring the times that his gaze flickers over to Scorpius – but he isn’t taking in a word. 

His head swims and he finds that he can’t think properly. There isn’t any reason though, and Albus finds himself growing increasingly frustrated. 

He feels desperately led to scream to the top of his lungs and shout about how unfair this anxious feeling is. About how unfair it is that his hands have to go numb and his brain fuzzy before he can decipher what is bothering him.

And sometimes, even then – just like at this moment, he still doesn’t know. 

The manor is far too nice a place for shouting though and if there is one thing that he has learned, it’s that life isn’t fair. 

And so he pierces his hands instead. 

That was minutes ago and now Albus’s hands are in his lap, balled under the quilt that is draped over the both of them. 

And even to him, it is now painfully apparent that reading is the last thing on his mind. 

He prays that Scorpius doesn’t notice. 

The bells of a grandfather clock break the silence of the room. It’s the large one in the corner of the corridor that can be heard at any point in the house. 

Astoria loves it besides the volume. 

Scorpius’s eyes are torn away from his book at the noise, but he quickly realises what the sound is and relaxes back into the love seat. His glance is almost to his book again but it circles back over Albus and something inside of his gaze shifts. 

“Al?” Scorpius calls, watching as his boyfriend tears his eyes away from the floor and onto him. 

Albus hums. 

“Is everything alright?” 

Albus thinks about lying. And perhaps, he muses later, that he had in some capacity, not been altogether truthful. 

But Scorpius eyes are compelling, holding some sort of gentle openness that makes Albus feel like confessing everything he has ever thought or done. He doesn’t. He says only three words but it feels like enough. 

Albus meets Scorpius’s eyes and says it too quickly, too sharply, words sounding like too much of a question, “Hold my hand?”

And Scorpius’s expression changes to one of muted sadness but it fades quickly into suppression. 

He gives a slight smile and drops his book onto the arm of the love seat. He reaches out a warm hand to meet Albus’s and grasps it tightly when he has. 

Albus closes his eyes for half of a second, relishing in the warmth and in the comfort. Then he shifts so he can lay against Scorpius’s shoulder. 

It’s a little awkward but Scorpius just holds their gripped hands in the air until Albus finds some capacity of comfortable. He does and Scorpius drops their intertwined limbs onto his lap. 

Scorpius gives that worried little frown that Albus knows all too well. 

“I’m fine,” Albus mumbles in recompense. 

He isn’t. 

Scorpius is intelligent, really. And Albus suspects that Scorpius understands very much indeed that he is not fine. 

But his boyfriend, subtle as he is considerate, says nothing in the way of words, just drops a long kiss to his forehead and then an even longer one to their clasped hands. 

Then he picks up his book and begins to read again.


	5. Row

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, my babes are fighting in this one. 
> 
> but don’t worry, i can’t leave them like that for long. 
> 
> i love a fix–it. even if albus isn’t fixed yet. 
> 
> hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> all my love.

The tension is palpable. 

It practically bleeds from his veins. He can feel it in the way he has been walking; in the way his shoulders have been drawn together for nearly a week.

He can see it when Scorpius gazes at him, eyes worried and resignedly hurt.

Albus wants very badly to kiss the hurt away. 

Albus has been shutting him out, Scorpius had claimed. He had said, shouted, actually, that he hadn’t been talking and that he wasn’t being open with him. 

And perhaps he has been shutting him out. Perhaps, and maybe just, he hasn’t really talked to his boyfriend in months.

Scorpius has right to be upset; and Albus is perfectly aware of this fact. 

But it doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

Their fight has been four days in the making and neither of them have the courage or perhaps maybe the lack of pride to break the silence. 

And now it’s too far gone. It is.

But Scorpius is always telling him that he tends to be vastly overdramatic. 

For once, Albus hopes he’s right. 

“I don’t like it when we’re fighting,” Scorpius announces, late one night when he’s drawn back Albus’s bed hangings and climbed in. 

Albus has always favored the right side of any bed so he doesn’t even have to move over. 

Scorpius casts a muffliato and speaks sharply, “I haven’t had anyone to go off on tangents to the tune of minor inconveniences. No one to cuddle. I haven’t had anyone to take breakfast with me when it is far too early in the morning. And I haven’t had one kiss in over half a week and I am, quite frankly, a bit sick of it.” He takes a breath. “I miss you, love. So talk to me.”

Albus takes a moment. He usually does. 

Then he says softly, “There isn’t anything to talk about.”

Scorpius sits up then and he looks exasperated. More than exasperated. Perhaps a little miffed. 

“That is absolute rubbish,” he declares loudly, harshly. 

So, miffed then, Albus thinks. 

Scorpius takes a deep breath, lets his eyes fall closed and then open again. They have softened. 

“Forgive me for pressing. Do forgive me. But I love you and I know that something is wrong. Please, Al, I–“

“I can’t talk about it,” Albus says suddenly, softly. 

Scorpius deflates a little. 

“You can tell me anything, my love.” 

Albus wishes that he can bring himself to believe that. 

“I–I can’t, Scor,” his voice is quieter than before and tears are falling. “Not this. Please understand.”

Scorpius closes his eyes then and before Albus can react, Scorpius has laid back down and burrowed his body next to Albus’s own. 

He leans up after a moment or two and presses a feather light kiss against Albus’s forehead. 

He murmurs into his skin, “I understand. Really, I do.”

But then Albus can feel the blood collecting in his palm and he fights the urge to rake his nails underneath his skin and draw more. He doesn’t, and he decides to be proud of that. 

He reaches for his wand, grits his teeth, and mutters a scourgify. 

Scorpius looks mildly curious as to what the incantation was needed for, but he doesn’t ask. He never does. 

And then the urge is back and before he can shove the words back in, Albus finds himself saying, “Take my hand?” 

The air grows quiet around them and Albus feels like each breath he takes is a little more effort. But Scorpius just obliges with a little squeeze against his fingers and a kiss against his lips. 

And when one of their dorm mates comes the next morning to wake them, he finds two peacefully sleeping boys, pressed against each other, hand in hand.


	6. Breathe, My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains graphic depictions of a panic attack – or at least, what seems graphic to me. 
> 
> please be safe. 
> 
> all my love.

It’s a Saturday, sometime in the beginning of July. 

It‘s warm and beautiful outside and Scorpius is staying with the Potters for the week. 

All should be well. Albus should be well. 

But he doesn’t feel well in the least. 

He feels anxiety. Heaps of it swirling around in his stomach and making him want to vomit every time he turns around. 

He tries to breathe. 

“Albus, mind you don’t burn yourself.”

Albus glances up at his mother’s voice, gaze fixing back down at the kettle and to where his arm had very nearly touched it. 

“Your mind certainly is somewhere else today,” Lily comments, voice teasing as she bites into an apple and seats herself at the table. 

“He left it in bed with Scorpius,” James says, and he grins behind his cup of coffee. 

“Oi, shove off,” Albus mutters, turning from the stove to scowl at his brother. 

Ginny sighs from her place at the refrigerator. She places the pitcher of juice onto the counter and rattles off a chastisement at her eldest. 

Scorpius comes down as she does so, dressed in only pyjamas. Albus’s slytherin ring dangles from a chain around his neck. 

He tries to breathe. 

Albus’s head feels fuzzy and so he focuses on the boiling tea kettle in front of him and hopes to merlin that this anxiety won’t turn into something else. 

“Good morning,” Scorpius says quietly, coming to stand next to where Albus is leaning against the cooktop. 

Albus smiles a little and kisses his boyfriend quickly. 

“Al, it is much too early for all of that,” Lily whines, but her voice sounds far away. 

Albus promptly ignores her while Scorpius calls out a half hearted apology. 

“Your family is lovely this time of the morning,” Scorpius comments lightly, smiling fondly as he watches Albus pull the kettle from the flame and place it onto a tea towel. 

“If you think they’re lovely, you should wait to meet my dad when he hasn’t had his morning cuppa. Right wanker sometimes.”

“Speaking of,” says Scorpius, “where is he? I haven’t seen him since Thursday.” 

Albus pours the water into a mug and catches his breath long enough to say, “A big case at the ministry has him overworking.” He bites his lip. “He’s up and gone before anyone else even thinks of waking.”

Albus doesn’t know why but his father’s absence makes things feel much, much worse. 

Scorpius hums, watching as his boyfriend opens a cupboard and extracts his favorite tea from within. 

Albus’s hands are shaking.

And when Albus is close enough and the sound of laughter from the table hides the question, Scorpius asks, “Is everything alright, darling?” 

“Yes,” Albus replies. But it was too quick and his eyes are holding that certain glint. 

And Scorpius leaves it, because he knows that’s what Albus wants. 

“Albus? Care to join us?” 

The words startle him in a way that the quiet tone of his mother’s voice never should have. 

Scorpius notices. 

“Yes, yes, we’re coming.” 

And so the morning goes on without incident. 

The evening does not. 

Albus is having a panic attack. He knows this. Is very, very aware of this particular fact. 

And perhaps because he knows it, is aware of it, he is spiraling a bit more than usual. 

He tries not to think at all. 

Scorpius comes over the threshold not a moment after Albus had sunk to the floor, hands shaking and heart pounding. There is a bowl of popcorn in his hand and he is wondering aloud about what kind of film they should watch. 

Scorpius glances down when no response comes and Albus closes his eyes when he sees that Scorpius knows exactly what’s happening. 

Scorpius knows exactly how to help and he tries to breathe in the peace of this fact. It fails miserably. 

Albus closes his eyes, tries to ground himself into the footboard of his too hard bed. 

Scorpius must have set the bowl down because his hands have come to rest on either sides of Albus’s thighs. 

“Talk to me, darling.”

“I can’t–I can’t feel–“ 

And nothing else has to be said because Scorpius picks up Albus’s hands in his own and takes to running light touches over his boyfriend’s numbing fingers.

“Breathe with me.”

Merlin, is he trying. 

And then he can feel too much and he has to tug his hands away from their place in Scorpius’s. He misses the contact but not so much as he misses his ability to breathe. 

His boyfriend releases them immediately and Albus tries to remember that Scorpius isn’t hurt by his need to pull away. 

His nails are underneath his skin now and he isn’t getting enough oxygen to care. 

“You’ve got to breathe with me, my love,” Scorpius commands, voice so soft it‘s barely there. “You’ve got to.”

And so he bends his head into his knees and listens to Scorpius’s breaths, even and solid as he counts back and forth between the inhales and exhales. 

Eventually he pulls in an admittedly ragged breath, but it was full and long and Scorpius lets a sigh of relief go when he has taken it in. 

It‘s quiet. It always is at this stage. Only the sound of leveling breaths can be heard. 

Albus’s heart has slowed and the blood flows through to his hands again. Through the cuts too. 

He sighs. 

Scorpius presses a kiss to his forehead, soundly and quickly. 

“What can I do?”

There‘s a beat. 

“I–I need. . .”

Albus shuts his eyes and tries to gain enough oxygen to form the words. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Scorpius promises, and Albus knows that he isn’t. “Take your time, my love.”

“I need you to hold my hands,” and besides the request sounding deathly quiet, it comes out firmly. 

Scorpius takes both of Albus’s hands in his, and for the second time begins to run his own fingers against his boyfriend’s. 

Albus hasn’t cast a scourgify, and when he realises this he almost can’t breathe again. 

But – if Scorpius is dismayed by the blood, neither his expression nor his actions show it. 

Albus breathes.


	7. Home

Albus copies down a signature that isn’t his for what he thinks must be the one–thousandth time today. 

Bitterly, Albus muses, his hands just might start bleeding from the sheer force of the pen against his grip if he is subjected to another one of these forms. 

He finds himself shivering at the thought of bloodied hands. 

He signs another signature and wonders if he would be fired for using someone else’s wand to finish these. 

He never comes to a conclusion. 

It’s turning dark out by the time he’s written off his last order form and handed it in to the head of the newspaper. 

And it feels like with the light fading outside, his own light is fading too. 

His head is heavy with the day’s events and his heart aches for home. 

Home. He breathes easier at the word. 

And apparently, his train of thought must not be too private because his supervisor taps him on the shoulder and frowns. 

“Potter?” Her brow is furrowed as she glances him over. “Go home. You look like shit.”

He can’t find it in his heart to argue. 

Autopilot is all that Albus can attribute to getting safely home. He isn’t even sure if he has looked up since leaving his office. 

His wand had been left at home this morning and perhaps, he muses, it is the reason his day was a little bit more miserable than usual. 

The walk up the stairwell feels longer than any other part of it and from the way the snow is soaking into his jumper, he imagines that he has been dragging a little. Perhaps a lot. 

The door to the apartment closes behind him all too loudly and he feels the urge to burst into tears. He decides vehemently against it. 

He shuffles off his boots and sheds his coat, hoping and praying that Scorpius isn’t home yet. Perhaps if he is still at the ministry Albus can cry for a little while. 

No such luck. 

His boyfriend is shuffling around the quaint kitchen, moving from the bar to the stove in graceful little movements, humming to himself and being oblivious to Albus’s watchful eyes. 

Albus smiles a little despite his mood. 

“Hey, baby.”

Scorpius doesn’t startle, merely turns and smiles, moving a few strides closer and leaning over the bar to place a quick kiss to Albus’s lips. 

Albus feels a surge of warmth flow through him. 

“You’re home early.”

“So are you,” Albus mumbles, feeling the happiness drain back into what he has been feeling for the past few days. 

“I finished my report rather early. Your father let me go,” he says, smiling softly. “I‘m making pasta,” Scorpius tells him, voice slightly raised over the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board. “You can help if you would like.”

Albus hesitates. 

“I think I will take a shower before dinner. But I’ll be quick about it; I can help once I’m out.”

Scorpius sets the knife down and smiles at Albus tentatively. He has that look of concern in his eye but Albus doesn’t notice. 

“Don’t worry about it, my love. Take all of the time you want.” 

Albus nods, eyes cloudy in a way that makes Scorpius know that something is very wrong. 

Albus kisses Scorpius squarely for all of a second before he pulls back and makes his way to their bedroom. 

Scorpius watches him go with a concerned little expression.

Albus found himself digging his hands into themselves at least six times while he stood under the scalding stream. And each time, he would swear loudly, uncurl his hands, and wash away the blood in the shower’s stream until it had stopped entirely. 

And after he is clean and clad in sweatpants, he can’t even bother to leave his and Scorpius’s bedroom. He simply sinks into their bed and wraps himself into a soft quilt. 

And then he cries. 

“Al?” 

Albus burrows further into the blanket, wiping harshly at his eyes before Scorpius finally comes into his view. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, feeling his voice crack as he does so. 

Scorpius smiles something soft and hesitant. 

“Dinner is finished. I didn’t know if you wanted to eat now or later.”

“I’m not all that hungry just now,” Albus says softly, feeling like maybe he hasn’t been hungry in days. “Maybe later.”

Scorpius doesn’t answer that, just frowns for a moment. He turns away just after and moves to his wardrobe. 

Albus doesn’t know what he’s doing but he figures that it doesn’t concern him and closes his eyes with a sigh. 

When he opens them a moment later it is only for the movement that he feels on Scorpius’s side of the bed. 

His boyfriend has changed into old joggers and a jumper and is currently arranging his pillows. 

Before Albus can say anything, Scorpius lays back and extends his arm out as if inviting him to sink into it. 

Albus smiles, but it’s edged with something sad and insincere. 

He falls against Scorpius with a heavy sigh and lays his head to his boyfriend’s chest. 

“What is it, darling?”

Albus feels each word vibrate through Scorpius’s chest. 

“It isn’t anything,” he responds immediately. “I’m fine.”

“You aren’t,” Scorpius says and nothing could have swayed his opinion. 

“Please, Scor.” 

Scorpius takes a slow breath and runs a hand through Albus’s untamed hair. 

“Love, I know you and I know when something is–“ Scorpius finds his eyes fixing around Albus’s hands. His fists are clenched and after all of this time, Scorpius thinks he might finally understand why. “Darling. . .don’t–“ he takes Albus’s hands in his, “don’t do that.”

Albus looks like he doesn’t even realise he is doing anything. 

“What do you mean?” 

Scorpius sits up; brushes his thumb over Albus’s knuckles. 

“You’re bleeding, Al.”

Albus looks like all air has left his body. 

He pulls his hands away and wishes for the earth to swallow him up. 

Scorpius reaches out a hand to steady him, cupping his cheek and taking his hands back into his. 

“Breathe, my love.”

Albus does.

“I’m sorry.” 

Scorpius runs his thumb against his cheek and over the trail of tears that are falling. Then he kisses Albus’s forehead. 

“Albus. . .you have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.”

Albus chokes. Actually. 

Scorpius can’t tell if it’s on a sob or if he had been trying to say something but he runs a gentle thumb along his jaw and shushes him anyway. 

Scorpius reaches for his wand. 

“May I?” 

Albus doesn’t have to answer; his eyes hold enough. 

Scorpius waves his wand over the red crescents and feels the tears fall down onto his own face as the marks disappear. 

“I love you,” Scorpius says, quickly; softly. “I love you and you need help.”

Albus stares up at Scorpius for longer than he should have; longer than he thinks he should have. 

Scorpius doesn’t seem to mind much.

Albus kisses him and if Scorpius can ever find the time to decipher it, he could have found the ‘I love you too’ inside of it. 

And then Albus’s arms go around him and he says something Scorpius thought he might never hear, “Okay.”

Scorpius holds his hands and against his chest, he feels Albus take a breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have made it this far – congratulations, and thank you. 
> 
> all my love.


End file.
